


A Court of Strife and Bloodlust

by fictionvixen



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: A LOT of Angst, Angst, F/M, I have no idea, Illyrian Nesta Archeron, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, general lustiness, i just needed more nessian banter in my life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:48:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29255484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionvixen/pseuds/fictionvixen
Summary: Forced out of her grungy Verlaris apartment and into an Illyrian training camp, Nesta faces her two biggest fears: herself, and the way she feels about Cassian.
Relationships: Nesta Archeron & Cassian, Nesta Archeron/Cassian
Comments: 1
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

Nesta slammed back another glass of that dangerous amber liquid; her throat now numb to the burn it caused. Her eyes scanned behind the bar for—what the hell was his name? Linus? No, Elias. Yes Elias. He was the one that owned the dump she now routinely spent her nights and early mornings at. Nesta got the feeling Elias didn’t particularly care for her and her pointy ears, but Feyre and her overgrown bat of a husband had been covering the tab for her every night, so he tolerated her. How generous of them. 

Her head swam as the alcohol in her system prickled in her fingertips and warmed her skin. She spotted Elias wiping down a section of the bar top farthest away from her. Nesta narrowed her eyes and shot daggers at him with her gaze, commanding him to look at her. When he finally did, she just waved her empty glass in the air at him, and set the glass down harder than she intended to. The glass shattered all over her lap and the counter. 

“Whoops,” she slurred to herself. She heard Elias let out a string of curses in the distance. “My darling brother in-law will take care of that one, Elias, don’t you worry your big ugly head about it.”

“You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” She felt a male’s hot breath on the back of her neck, and froze in her seat. Her instincts screamed at her to run, as images of Thomas Mandray flooded her mind. She froze in that moment with him, and he wasted no time ripping the bust of her dress open. Never again. Rip his arm from his socket, drive an elbow up into his nose, knee him in the balls—Nesta reminded herself of her own strength. Nesta swore she would never let a man sense even an ounce of fear from her ever again. 

She pivoted around on her stool to face him, and he wasn’t as horrible as she expected. She noticed the pair of Illyrian wings flare behind him, the glow of the candlelight seeming to illuminate them from within. She heard Elias clear his throat before setting another glass on the counter, and sweep the remnants of broken glass away. She fumbled behind her for the glass, and whirled it up to her lips, eyes still locked on the Illyrian stranger.

“Are you going to buy me another drink,” she said through batted lashes as she polished off her latest glass. “Or are you content to breathe down my neck all night?” Nesta felt a flush across her chest as she pictured Cassian’s lips, hovering over the nape of her neck. “stop it,” she whispered to herself, louder than she intended. If visions of Cassian still swam in her mind, she hadn’t had enough to drink. She wanted to be so drunk all she could focus on was staying upright. She closed her eyes and sighed as she watched the nameless Illyrian hold up two fingers to Elias. 

He stepped closer, positioning himself between Nesta’s legs. His hands slid around her waist. Nesta hated herself for immediately being disappointed in his touch. She hated herself even more for thinking his hands weren’t as big as Cassian’s. 

“How about I buy you another drink, and breathe down your neck all night?” She set him up for that one, she supposed. Nesta slid her arms up and around his neck, her lips resting inches from his own. It took all of her attention to focus on his face to keep the room from spinning so much. Maybe she should skip that last drink?   
“Your place or mine, soldier?” The words left her mouth before her brain had time to process what she was saying. Maybe she would need that last drink.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Nesta fumbled for what felt like an eternity with her keys in her apartment door. Between the Illyrian placing sloppy wet kisses on her neck, and her hands refusing to cooperate with the keys, she thought she might just have to bed the goddamn bat in the street and get it over with. 

When the lock finally clicked open, she stumbled into her apartment and did a dramatic bow holding the door open for her guest. She was far too fucking drunk for this, but it was too late to back out now. The male had the decency to only look shocked for a split second by the state of her seedy apartment.   
When she went to close the door, she swore she saw a familiar winged shadow and a glint of red siphons in the moonlight. She slammed the door and made quick but inelegant work of her clothes before slamming her lips into the Illyrian’s. 

Not Cassian, her brain chanted, over and over. This kiss was too hard; awkward and frantic. Even as she ran her fingers through his hair, the texture was off. His hair wasn’t long enough to tie up, or tuck behind his ears, or pull. 

Nesta hated herself. Hated herself for thinking of Cassian when she brought male after male home. Sometimes they looked like him, and sometimes they didn’t. But that didn’t stop her from pretending every night. And when she awoke the next morning, feeling on the brink of death, the self-hatred and guilt motivated her. Motivated her to maintain the façade she had so carefully built for herself in the last decade. The disgust with herself was easier to digest than even beginning to decipher what it is exactly she felt for Cassian. Or what she felt in general for that matter. Hating herself was easier than ever facing herself. So here she was, with another male, hoping for just a fragment of a moment that might feel real. With Cassian. 

Nesta felt that familiar lurch in her stomach and knew she had seconds to turn and run before hurling the contents of her stomach on her apartment floor.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cassian sat perched atop the building across from Nesta’s. He didn’t usually do this, but he saw how the fire in Nesta’s eyes blazed a little hotter when Rhys and Feyre broke the news to her. They had informed her she’d been cut off and was being shipped away like a rebellious teen to a military bootcamp to smarten up; which was essentially what was happening, Cassian thought. 

So, he decided he’d make sure Nesta didn’t do anything even more insane or irrational than she typically did. Rhys told him to give her space; that Nesta made her own decisions and would have to be solely responsible for the consequences. And much to Rhys’ chagrin, Cassian didn’t waste any time leaving the town house and flying straight towards Nesta’s.

He watched Nesta stumble down the street with some poor Illyrian bastard glued to her neck. Cassian had to laugh as he watched her struggle with her keys in the lock, as if there wasn’t a male leaving a trail of drool down her neck like a slug. “C’mon, Ness. This guy?” Cassian said out loud as Nesta finally managed to get the door open. 

A part of him hoped she’d see him waiting up there, and send the male home. But he knew if she did spot him, she might just leave the door wide open for Cassian to see. Salt in the wound was Nesta’s specialty. His heartbeat picked up when he saw Nesta appear again, swaying in the doorframe. He could’ve sworn she saw him. She saw him, and she didn’t scoff or roll her eyes, yell at him or slam the door. Nesta just looked at him; holding his gaze until the door closed in front of her.

His brows rose when minutes later, he saw the door whirl open and the male rush out in a hurry. He chuckled and hopped off the building; wings flaring as he came to a gentle landing on the cobblestone below. When he appeared in the doorway, he saw Nesta on all fours spilling her guts onto her kitchen floor.   
“Oh for fuck sakes, Nesta,” Cassian muttered softly before kneeling on the ground beside her.  
“N-not, YOU.” Nesta slurred, without looking up.

“Yes, me.” Cassian said quietly. “I’m going to pick you up and carry you to the bathroom, okay?” he added, placing a hand on the middle of Nesta’s back, rubbing gently.

“I’m going to break,” another wretch from Nesta’s throat. “your nose.” 

Cassian smiled before replying. “I believe it, your aim is excellent for a female with no training.” His hands wrapped around her ribcage and slowly maneuvered Nesta so he could scoop her up into his arms.

“Bat,” was all she replied, her eyes closed, that accusatory finger pointed in Cassian’s face.

“Ness, please be carefully with that thing” Cassian warned, earning a giggle from Nesta. Cassian made a mental note to remember that sound, as he wasn’t sure if he’d ever hear it again after tonight. He struggled to fold himself into Nesta’s tiny bathroom; his wings tucking in instinctively as he sank down to sit on the ground with Nesta in his lap. He positioned Nesta over the bowl of the toilet, and she let out a weak groan. 

“Cassian,” she breathed. 

“Mm?”

“I don’t feel very good,” She huffed out before another wretch. 

“I know,” he replied. Cassian unwrapped a piece of thin leather from this wrist, and carefully began running his hands through Nesta’s hair, gathering the strands to tie back from her face. Nesta heaved again and again, groaning each time. Cassian continued to rub gentle circles on her back as she emptied the last of the contents of her stomach into the bowl. 

“That was a good one” Cassian laughed as Nesta wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

“I feel better now,” Nesta declared as she picked her head up.

“Are you okay to go to bed?” Cassian asked, hoisting her up to her feet in front of him as he reached over to flush the toilet. Nesta thrashed in his arms and slammed her back into the counter top. 

“I am NOT having sex with YOU,” There was that dreaded pointer finger again. Cassian covered her hand with his and pushed her out of the bathroom. 

“Nesta, I’m not trying to have sex with you. I’m trying to make sure you don’t die in your fucking sleep.”

“That’s what they all say,” Nesta drawled, eyelids still too heavy to open all the way.

Cassian took that as permission to help her into her bedroom. He scanned the room for something clean for her to wear to bed; she was clad only in a soiled silk slip.   
“Are you gonna be alright changing into something clean to sleep in? I’ll be right back,” He watched Nesta carefully as she swayed standing up from her bed. 

“Turn around!” She squealed, and he hurried into the kitchen to find something to clean with.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After he managed to clean up the mess on Nesta’s kitchen floor, Cassian brought another warm, clean washcloth and a glass of water to her bedroom.  
“Can I come in?” He called out from the hallway.

“If you must,” Nesta shouted too loud. Cassian smiled and shook his head before entering. He just about choked on his tongue when he saw that Nesta found an even shorter and tighter silk slip to wear to bed. It was a shocking ruby red that seemed to shine in the moonlight. This female was going to be the death of him, he thought, before setting the glass of water on the wobbly table beside Nesta’s bed. 

“Chin up,” he quipped, standing above Nesta as she sat perched on her bed. Much to Cassian’s surprise, she obliged without question. He picked up her right hand, and began to gently rub it clean with the washcloth. After he did the same with her left, he held her chin between his thumb and pointer finger. He carefully wiped her mouth clean, moving to her chin, then her neck, and ending at the base of her throat. 

Cassian swallowed as he met her gaze, unwaveringly locked on him. He let go of her chin and forced himself to take a step back.   
“I didn’t ask for your help,” Nesta said quietly. That familiar edge had begun to return.

“I know,” was all Cassian could say. 

“I’m not going to say thank-you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Okay.” 

“Okay,” Cassian echoed. He could hear the exhaustion in her voice. “Sleep well, Nesta.” he turned and walked out of her room, not waiting for a good night back. When he shut her front door behind him, he could hear her muffled sobs begin. He let out a heavy sigh, fighting the urge to turn around and go back in. Cassian forced his wings open, and shot into Velaris’ night sky before he could change his mind.

Cassian never really cared about mates and love and relationships and all of the garbage that came with it. He was arguably the greatest fighter Prythian had ever seen, and the greatest commander to lead an army in millennia. He saw what it did to people and how it made them crazy. It wasn’t something he ever wanted for himself because he couldn’t see himself loving something wholly—the way true mates did. 

As he flew through the dimly lit streets of Velaris, he acknowledged what he avoided since he met Nesta—he loved her. With every bone in his body. He was an idiot and he loved her; she loathed him entirely and he adored her. In all his years, he had never come across a more terrifying adversary than Nesta Archeron; and he couldn’t wait to wage that war.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a time-jump with this one! Nesta has arrived and set up camp in the Illyrian mountains.  
> Hope you enjoy!

When Nesta first arrived at the camp, she decided she would not leave her lodge. Cassian had flown her in and tried his best to showcase the camp in a good light, but Nesta was determined to be miserable. Day by day, it felt like choices were being stripped from her. The second Cassian had set her on the ground, she demanded to be shown to her quarters and left alone. He led her to a sizeable lodge, on the eastern-most side of the camp. She was thankful to be tucked away and out of the path of soldiers trudging from their barracks to the sparring ring and back again. 

“If you need anything, I’m just over there,” Cassian pointed to another lodge, similar in size to her own, a few hundred feet away. She’d snapped and told him no; he’d done quite enough by dumping her off in this wretched hell hole. The longer she spent in Prythian, the more easily the hate and cruelty seemed to pour out of her. When she was with anyone, Nesta itched to be alone. Yet when she finally got the solitude she so desperately needed, she found herself equally as overwhelmed; this time by her own thoughts.

Time had quickly begun to blur together. The weather didn’t change, not really; and the members in the camp went about their daily routines as if they were enchanted to do so. If it weren’t for the setting and rising of the sun, Nesta wasn’t sure if time was actually progressing at all. Each day, she spent thinking. Remembering and rehashing, reliving each traumatic moment she could find in the corners of her mind. Some days she was just angry about being stuck in this camp. Other days she was angry about being stuck in her body, a body that she occupied but was not hers. She dreaded the days where she was paralyzed with anger; it weighed her down like an anchor on her chest. On those days, she had time to think about things that were hard to be angry about. 

Her mother, for instance; who was a shit mother. Not a maternal bone in her body, and yet she decided to have not one but three children. And then, true to character, she died. Leaving Nesta and her sisters to fend for themselves. What horrified Nesta the most was how much she loved her mother. She longed for her, and dreamed about those rare memories where Nesta made her laugh, or her mother had come home with a beautiful new satin ribbon to tie up in Nesta’s hair. She held those memories so close to her heart, and hated herself for it. 

She hated herself for punishing her father for a decade. She didn’t have the stomach to even cast a look in his direction, and lived as if he weren’t alive at all. She despised that the clearest memory she had of him was moments before his neck was snapped and his lifeless body dropped to the ground in the most unnatural way. She had shown him nothing but malice, using him as a scapegoat for every unhappiness she and her sisters had suffered throughout their childhood. But then he had fought for her—for her sisters—like she’d screamed at him to do years and years ago. He’d loved her, the way a father should have, and it was too late. He died convinced Nesta hated every bone in his body. 

The memories tormented her. She fought against them each day, with insult hurled and sneer cast. The cruelty was both her weapon and her armor. It fought against the emotions that always simmered beneath the surface, and protected her from rejection and heartbreak. She’d destroy anyone before she allowed them into her heart, poised to shatter it. But Nesta grew weary of the battle she’d waged on herself. She needed to find some way—alone—to get out of her head before that anchor on her chest crushed her completely. 

One day, Nesta had managed to muster up enough energy to venture outside her lodge. When she shut the door behind her and looked around the camp she’d been living in the past few weeks, she decided she would explore. She walked outside the perimeter of the camp, and north up a path further into the mountains, and that’s when she came across a beautiful clearing. Nesta began to come up to the clearing every day, and spent hours dozing off in long, plush grass. She would begin to read again, she thought. Her mind quieted and she felt peace for the first time in a long while. 

Weeks had passed since Nesta took those first steps outside her lodge. Today would be no different than the days before, or the days after. Much to her own discomfort, Nesta found she rather looked forward to her daily trek north. So today, she pulled her boots on and headed into the mountains; book in tow. When she made it to the top of her lookout spot, she surveyed the area for any unwanted visitors. She stood there for a moment, her back to the camp, and just breathed. In and out, again and again, until the memories stopped their relentless assault, and the tension left her body, allowing her shoulders to drop. Here she could be Nesta; the Nesta she wanted to be, but was too afraid to let go of the cold and rigid mask the others were so eager to have her wear. For their sake, she supposed. To the Inner Circle, that’s all they had known. Elain and Feyre, on the other hand... were too young to remember who Nesta was before it all went downhill. 

She braced herself on the sharp mountain rock and unlaced her boots. The feel of the jagged stones and prickly grass beneath her feet was one of the only things that made her feel human again. She tiptoed over to the large oak tree near the edge of the cliff, and sat down beside her boots, cracking open her book to where the thin piece of leather marked where she’d left off. She told herself she was being practical; that the leather strip that once adorned Cassian's wrist was nothing more than a bookmark now. Definitely not a memento that she cherished like a lock of hair or a secret letter from a lover. 

Nesta shook her head as she tried to rid Cassian from her mind for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. She scanned the camp one last time, playing with the leather between her fingers. It was then she spotted Cassian, a massive grin plastered on his face, fighting a young Illyrian girl with a wooden sword. He lost his shirt somewhere, as the brute usually did, and roared with laughter after taking a jab to the stomach. She fought back a smirk. She’d never let anyone know, but she admired the way Cassian fought for the females in the camp. It was too late for a lot of the females; wings already clipped and hopes long since dashed. It would be so easy to maintain the status quo of the camp, but Cassian was relentless with Devlon; determined to make him see the value in those females, hell-bent on showing each and every Illyrian that they were valued.

From the moment she met Cassian, he had been the only one to meet her fire and malice with something other than more fire. It disarmed her, that day in her home in the human realm. He had so expertly parried her verbal attack with a calm and calculated one of his own. He’d been testing her ever since, but he’d also been the only one to look at her—and really look—and notice the seam of the mask she’d been wearing for so long. 

But her heart fell from her chest and her throat closed up when she looked at him. Because she saw the pain and destruction that now followed him like a shadow since she entered his life. She still shot awake in her sleep, paralyzed with fear at the sight of Cassian on the shining marble or grassy forest floors—skin and wings shredded like delicate lace. Nesta was haunted by the sound of her name on his lips; it was always so soft, it sounded like a lullaby. In her nightmares, she begged and screamed for him to get up and run. But this time, not from the King of Hybern; because in her nightmares, she looked down to see her own hands—now replaced with talons—responsible for the shredding, and covered in his blood. 

Nesta dragged her gaze from him, and turned to position her back against the oak tree. The crimson linen dress she had on stuck to her back with sweat. The air had turned a sickly but warm shade of green; ushering in a storm to cut the week-long humidity in the mountains, along with the rising frustrations of the camp. Her finger found her spot on the thin pages, and she began to lose herself in the fantasy of her favorite heroine and her dashing prince.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------  
She had been reading for a while—exactly how long she wasn’t sure—when the wind picked up and the first droplets stained her pages. She was so lost in her story, she told herself she’d just finish the chapter, then head right back down to camp. The winds grew stronger and the rain came down in sheets, drenching her and her book. Nesta struggled to fit her wet feet into her now sopping boots, and began to carefully climb her way down from the once peaceful reading retreat. 

The path of sharp mountain stone was now rain slicked, and caused Nesta to slip, going down face first. The rocks sliced the skin on her palms and knees as she braced herself for the fall. She let out a sharp hiss at the pain, as her vision began to blur with the tears that now pricked her eyes. Where the hell did her book fly off to? She saw the soggy heap of pages roll end-over-end down the path, the strong storm wind carrying it further and further down the mountain. Nesta’s teeth chattered in her mouth as she slicked her hair back from her face and forced herself against the wind.  
Nesta barely heard the familiar flap of wings over the rhythmic pounding of the wind and rain.  
“There you are,” Cassian called out to her. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

Nesta looked down at the torn linen dress that now unflatteringly clung to her legs. Watery lines of blood trickled from her palms and knees. Then back up at Cassian. She scowled at him as the rain poured from his unbound hair. 

“If you’ve come up here to mock me, please continue. The sound of your voice makes me want to jump off this cliffside, and it would be a faster death than hypothermia,” Nesta said through gritted teeth. A smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes pulled on the corner of his mouth. Cassian shoved his hands into the pockets of his Illyrian leathers, and made his way towards Nesta. Her hands curled into fists as the soldier stood inches away. 

“Always one for the dramatics, eh Ness?” His head cocked to the side. “Tell you what, you jump off that cliff. I’ll catch you, and have you roasting nicely beside a fire in a clean, dry lodge. I’ll count down from 10, ready? 10, 9, 8, 7....” Cassian took a few steps back, readying his wings for take-off. Nesta stood cemented to the ground, the wind whipping her hair in every direction. 

“You’re an idiot,” was all Nesta said. 

“Only an idiot, today? Wow, Ness. I knew I was growing on you, but--”

“Don’t call me Ness,” Nesta cut Cassian off mid-sentence.

“Sorry. ‘The Great and Powerful Witch Queen Nesta, please will you allow me to escort you back to the camp?” Cassian bent over in an exaggerated bow before getting down on one knee. If she wasn’t so cold, and could feel her arms, Nesta thought she might’ve smacked him across his pretty cheek. She rolled her eyes and made her way towards him, resulting in a big grin from Cassian. Her stomach flipped and she struggled to maintain her breathing. 

And just like that, Cassian scooped her up in his arms and shot into the sky with a powerful flap of his wings. Nesta buried her face in his chest to avoid the onslaught of wind and rain. She felt Cassian’s chest vibrate with laughter and he held her ever so slightly tighter to his chest. She hoped he didn’t feel her relax into his arms for the remainder of the short flight.


	3. Chapter 3

Although Nesta was chilled to the bone, at least she was out of the rain. Her teeth had stopped chattering, and the blue-ish tint that had colored her skin was now replaced with a flush of pink from the warmth of the fire. The storm outside raged on, and she was thankful for the peace and privacy that came with everyone being tucked away in their own respective lodges. Cassian however, insisted on staying with Nesta; claimed he was there to make sure her fingers and toes didn’t fall off from the cold. She didn’t mind his company too much. Especially when it was just the two of them, Nesta felt like she could relax a fraction more. 

When they were in public, she was overwhelmed by the feeling of being watched; of being picked apart from head to toe, and sneered at. She wasn’t Illyrian, she was High Fae. And even at that, she was Made, which somehow made a difference to the Illyrians. She heard some of the older men hiss “witch” under their breaths when she walked by, and she watched an Illyrian mother snag her young son closer to her as she made her way to the main hall of the camp. At the most, Nesta was an immortal witch monster. At the very least, a bitch. She was content to maintain pretenses if everyone left her alone and kept their questions to themselves. 

But it still wore on her, the way they looked at her, and then at Cassian. As if it were tattooed on his bloody forehead that there was something between them. Cassian had tried to talk to her, to ask her about the things they had said that day. He told her he wished they had more time. And that he would find her, in the next life. In that moment, Nesta truly believed him. That maybe there was a version of her and a version of him that could be happy together, in another lifetime. The sickest part of it all was now they had time. Although the King of Hybern’s body and severed head lay rotting in the forest somewhere, he had still managed to kill Nesta; a part of her when he forced her into that cauldron, and the other part of her when she watched him snap her father’s neck. When Cassian had asked her about the extra time fate had gifted them, again, she jumped up from her seat by the fire and commanded him to leave.

“Nesta, please,” Cassian pleaded softly, his eyes closed as he dragged his hands over his face. 

“Cassian, I’ve made it exceptionally clear how I feel about our- what did you call it? ‘gift from fate’,” Nesta barked out a venomous laugh. “I suppose I am to be grateful for my new life, as it was a ‘gift’. I’m supposed to see my new pointed ears in the mirror and smile,” Nesta’s hands balled into fists at her sides as she took a step toward where Cassian was seated. His forearms rested on his knees as he craned his neck up to look at her.

“Everything, everyone I held dear was ripped from me and destroyed. And if they weren’t destroyed, they were changed beyond recognition. I have nothing, and no one. I look at myself in the mirror and it makes me sick, Cassian,” her voice broke as tears glazed her eyes. “It makes me sick to see a face that is not my own. To look at my sisters and not recognize them. To look at you and see your body, ripped open and your wings shredded beyond repair. I saw the pulse of your organs, Cassian. I watched as they slowed, knowing you’d die there. Do not ask me again about what fate has ‘gifted’ me. I have been cursed. For eternity.” 

Nesta stood, trembling with rage, inches from Cassian. But he dared not move or speak. He was afraid one wrong move, or word, would send her marching back out into the storm. After a few moments, Cassian let out a deep breath and sat back in his chair. “You’re right,” he replied, softly. When Nesta didn’t flinch away from his words, he continued. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how you feel. I don’t know what you think, or what you see. Because you choose to keep that to yourself,” Nesta opened her mouth to interrupt, but Cassian finished the thought before the words could leave her lips. “You’re not entitled to tell anyone a damn thing, Nesta. You don’t owe anyone an explanation. But I refuse to sit back and watch you self-destruct. So, tell me. Tell me what you need from me, Nesta. And I’ll do it.”

“Get out,” Nesta didn’t meet his gaze as she hurled those two words at him again. “Get out.”

“I’ll do anything except that,” Cassian countered. Nesta made the mistake of looking shocked for a fraction of a second. Cassian tried to act like he didn’t notice.

“Get OUT Cassian,” Nesta warned, meeting his gaze. Standing her ground. Cassian thought it might be a good time to show Nesta that he could dig his heels in, too.

“Before we arrived at your home that day,” Nesta’s gaze softened at the mention of home—her home. “I didn’t know much about you. I only knew what Feyre elected to share, and from her, I gleaned that you were...” Cassian turned a few words over in his mind. “...Fierce. But I saw the way you held yourself, as a group of unknown fae were welcomed into your home, and I saw the way you subconsciously moved to shield Elain from danger. Then I heard you speak, and felt the venom and the sting in the words you said. And I thought, ‘here’s someone I’d ride into battle for.’” 

Nesta gave him a simultaneous scoff and eye roll, and made a step to turn away from him when Cassian shot out of his chair. 

“I’m serious!” he laughed nervously, now frantically running his hands through his hair. “I said what I said to you, because I knew you could take it. It wasn’t anything you didn’t know, but I needed to show you that I wanted to protect your sister—sisters— just as much as you did.” Nesta now pivoted to face him, her head cocked to the side and arms folded neatly across her chest. 

“You aren’t like Feyre. She charges head first into situations, consequences be damned. Thank the Cauldron that’s worked out for her thus far,” Cassian said, taking one small step towards her. “You command justice. You keep record of the unfairness that has befallen you, and you pursue justice relentlessly.”

“Go on,” Nesta murmured.

“I was prepared for ‘fierce’. I wasn’t prepared for you, Ness.”

“Ah, yes. The ‘Flaming Bitch’ rhetoric, how original. What would you like me to say, Cassian? To do? Swoon for you? Melt for you?” A small smile lit Cassian’s face.   
“We’ll get there yet, darling, but tonight isn’t that kind of night,” Nesta’s eyes rolled again, but she waited for him to finish his speech.

“I wasn’t prepared,” Cassian took two steps towards Nesta. She remained rooted to the ground; gaze fixed on him. “For the power that you commanded. Even as a human, Nesta, I was called to you. The soldier in me,” Cassian knelt down on one knee; wings flaring ever so slightly behind him. “Called to the Queen in you, Ness. Let me be the sword to your scales.”

Cassian watched as Nesta carefully digested his words. She hadn’t slapped him yet, so that was a good sign, but her face remained neutral. Cassian sucked in a breath as he felt Nesta’s fingers graze the skin of his cheek. 

“I’ve developed a knack for interrupting, apparently,” The sound of Rhys’ voice pulled Nesta from Cassian like repelling magnets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for keeping up with my little fic!   
> Most of this fic was dreamed up and written months before ACOSF, and now that I've finished ACOSF, my Nessian desire has been satiated for the time being lol. I'll be posting a chapter each week, and trying to find some motivation to finish it off for you guys.

**Author's Note:**

> !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! screams into the void !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE NESTA ARCHERON WITH ALL MY HEART!!!!!  
> Posting Chapter 1 in hopes it'll motivate me to continue the story and write down what's been living in my brain about these two <3


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